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Quiet American Graham Greene Dear Rene and Phuong, I have asked permission to dedicate this book to you not only in memory of the happy evenings I have spent with you in Saigon over the last five years, but also because I have quite shamelessly borrowed the location of your flat to house one of my characters, and your name, Phuong, for the convenience of readers because it is simple, beautiful and easy to pronounce, which is not true of all your country-women’s names. You will both realise I have borrowed little else, certainly not the characters of anyone in Viet Nam. Pyle, Granger, Fowlair, Vigot, Joe-these have had no originals in the life of Saigon or Hanoi, and General The is dead: shot in the back, so they say. Even the historical events have been rearranged. For example, the big bomb near the Continental preceded and did not follow the bicycle bombs. I have no scruples about such small changes. This is a story and not a piece of history, and I hope that as a story about a few imaginary characters it will pass for both of you one hot Saigon evening Yours affectionately, Graham Greene “I do not like being moved: for the will is excited; and action Is a most dangerous thing; I tremble for something factitious, Some malpractice of heart and illegitimate process; We’re so prone to these things, with our terrible notions of duty.” A. H. Clough “This is the patent age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions.” Byron PART ONE CHAPTER I After dinner I sat and waited for Pyle in my room over the Catinat: he had said. “I’ll be with you at latest by ten,” and when midnight had struck I couldn’t stay quiet any longer and went down into the street. A lot of old women in black trousers squatted on the landing: it was February and I suppose too hot for them in bed. One trishaw driver pedalled slowly by towards the river-front and I could see lamps burning where they had
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